


Whatever May Come

by likethenight



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened, that last night before the battle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever May Come

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Anniversary/Missing Scene challenge at the kingarthurfanfiction yahoogroup. Follows _Keeping Vigil_ , or at least takes place in the same 'verse (though some other details, like Galahad's hordes of sisters, seem to have crept in from _A Quiet Understanding_...)

The knights watched in silence as Arthur turned and almost ran down the steps, a clearly infuriated Lancelot in hot pursuit. It was all too clear what Arthur and Guinevere had been doing when the alarm was raised, and there was not a man on the battlements who did not feel a twinge of sympathy for Lancelot. Guinevere hung back too, watching the confrontation between the two men as Lancelot caught up with Arthur, and it was all too easy to read what was passing between them. 

Gawain risked a glance at the Woads' princess, unable to keep his face entirely free of reproach for her intrusion. He need not have bothered; her attention was entirely fixed on Arthur and Lancelot, and she wore a calculating expression, as if working out how to turn this situation to her advantage. As the argument ended and Lancelot stormed off, she gathered up her somewhat rumpled skirts and went to Arthur without a backward glance.

There was a long silence between the knights; they turned their attention to the Saxons' fires, none of them willing to watch their commander and the woman any more.

Eventually Galahad could contain himself no longer. "Has he completely lost his mind?" he demanded, and the others turned to look at him.

"What, taking that wildcat to his bed?" grinned Bors. "Don't think he had much option. Besides, she's tempting enough, if you like them skinny. I might even be tempted myself, if it weren't for Vanora..." he trailed off, his grin becoming even wider.

"Not that," said Galahad impatiently. "Although if your Vanora heard you say that, you'd soon be fit for no woman at all, let alone a little Woad vixen who's young enough to be your daughter. I mean, does Arthur truly think he can just send us off like that while he plays the hero and gets himself killed by ten thousand stinking Saxons?"

The rest of the knights gaped at him.

"You've changed your tune. Thought this was all just a bad dream to you," said Tristan laconically. "You got the taste for killing at last, pup, now you're a free man?"

"No," Galahad snapped. "But nor have I gained a taste for abandoning a friend to certain death, no matter how determined he is that we should do so."

"We are no longer under his command," mused Gawain. "Our fifteen years are gone."

"Aye," said Bors. "And we are free to do what we like."

"Whether that be to run like dogs or die for a cause that is no more our own than the one we've been fighting for since we came to this gods-forsaken island," Tristan observed. "I'm just saying," he added as the others all glared at him.

"Well, it might not come to that," rumbled Bors. "Meanwhile, I've got a woman to see to. One that's more generously proportioned than that skinny little wench. Far more to my tastes," he leered, sketching a shape in the air that was definitely more womanly than that of the Woads' princess, and wandered off down the stairs, already shouting for Vanora.

Tristan melted off into the darkness, leaving Gawain and Galahad looking at each other, a little at a loss as to what to do.

Eventually Gawain pushed himself away from the wall against which he had been leaning. "Well," he said. "If this is to be the last night we spend here, whichever way the wind blows, I've a mind to visit my brothers. Coming?"

Galahad nodded and scrambled to his feet, and the two off them headed down from the wall and off through the fortress, making for the cemetery. They collected a flagon of wine from the tavern on the way, noticing Lancelot sitting in the corner with a flagon of his own and a face like thunder. By common, unspoken consensus, they left him to it.

Settling himself on the damp grass by the three graves of his brothers, Gawain shivered. "I won't miss the weather here," he said, rubbing his arms against the cold. 

"Me neither," agreed Galahad. "Too chilly, too damp. Can't remember the last time we saw the sun."

They passed the wine back and forth for a while, trying to insulate themselves against the cold, but it didn't help much.

"It was about this time of year we put these three boys in the ground," Gawain said quietly after a while.

"So it was," said Galahad. "Not long after Imbolc. The snowdrops were still out." He pointed across the grass to a splash of white at the edge of the trees. "As they are now. How many years has it been now?"

Gawain paused for a moment, thinking. "Nine years. I was twenty summers old then. Funny, it seems longer, and yet it feels like only yesterday that they were all three of them still here." He paused again. "I still miss them. When I think that I must return home and tell my mother and father that their other sons are all dead...it hurts worse than any wound I have sustained."

"I know," said Galahad gently, resting his head on Gawain's shoulder and slipping an arm around him. "You won't have to do it alone though. I'll come with you."

"You would do that for me?"

"Of course. You didn't think you were getting rid of me once we ride away from here, did you?" There was a smile in Galahad's voice, and Gawain could not help but smile back, feeling his heart lift just a little.

"I had hoped that perhaps we might travel together," he said, "but I thought you would want to return to your village, and your hordes of sisters."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to do that eventually," said Galahad, "but I rather hoped you'd come with me. We've been away too long simply to drop back into daily life on the plains. I thought we could travel around a bit. I don't want to say goodbye to you too," he finished in a small voice.

Gawain buried his face in Galahad's hair. "You've no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that," he said, his voice somewhat muffled. "I've lost my brothers. I can't lose you too."

"You won't have to," said Galahad thickly, tilting his face up and pressing a clumsy but heartfelt kiss to Gawain's mouth. They clung together for a long moment, each fighting down the tide of fear and grief that threatened to overwhelm them both.

"Come on," said Galahad after a minute or two had passed and they had brought themselves under shaky control once more. "Whatever happens tomorrow, we should get some sleep tonight." He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Gawain up.

"You're right," said Gawain, taking his hand and standing up. "I shall bid my brothers farewell; perhaps we'll see them, roaming the plains."

"I think we will," said Galahad, and they took their leave of the three quiet graves, huddled close together beneath the edge of the forest, and made their way slowly back to their sleeping quarters. They slept that night in each other's arms, and forgot for a short time all that they had lost and the decisions that awaited them once the sun rose again.


End file.
